Four Little Problems
by The Solar Surfer
Summary: Request for Mentoria - Spiderman comes across a group of super baddies stealing from a lab, but is stunned to find them disappeared after a short fight. Unaware, Spider-Man plays host to a team of supervillains who plan his destruction.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, guys. This is a commision for Mentoria, who had an idea for a Spectacular Spiderman fic. This is only the first chapter, but I hope you like it! =)**

**Read and Review!**

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

**New York City**

**10:13 PM**

A dark figure swooped through the black sky. No star shone above the city, but the moon and streetlights provided enough light to see. The dark figure dropped, landing on top of a low-lying building. Inside, lights were flickering.

The figure crept across the roof, taking care not to make any noise. They came across a ventilation shaft. Opening the grate and looking from side to side, they slipped inside.

Crashing emanated from inside the laboratory. Several windows were already broken, the tables smashed against the walls. Shattered vials and spilled liquids littered the tiled floor. Years and years of research, gone as four people barged their ways through.

"Careful!" one of them snapped. "You might destroy the dimensional capacitor!"

Another snarked, "Oh, really? I don't suppose you could _tell_ us what it looks like, first?"

"It's small." The first one answered, tossing aside a refrigerator like it was made of feathers. "It looks like a computer chip. And if you break it, we'll all be out on a fifty thousand dollar deal."

"Well," the second one said, sliding his hand through a safe and ripping off the door from the inside. He checked the interior, but all that was there was a heavy stack of papers. "That sure clears it up. Where would we be without you, Tracker?"

"Shut up." a deep voice said, coming from a huge, hulking figure behind the Tracker. "You not helping."

"Hey, _you_ shut up," the second voice growled. "I don't see why Tracker even brought you."

"Gravity is very important to our mission," Tracker said, looking through some files but the search was unsuccessful, since they quickly disintegrated. "Without him, we'd be at a disadvantage. However, we might do well without you, Shadow."

"Without me?" Shadow sneered. "Without me you wouldn't be in here at all. The police would be on top of us in a minute if it wasn't for me unlocking the doors from the inside."

"Will both of you be quiet?" a fourth voice hissed, this time female. There was a burst of light and the sound of a metal door being seared in half. "We would have found it already if you two hadn't started arguing. We're wasting enough time as it is. The dimensional capacitor should be in something, already used. Maybe a machine."

"And who made _you the_ boss?" Shadow demanded.

"When I'm the only one who's doing her job," she retorted. "But you're welcome to join me, ladies."

"Hey, don't call me a –" Shadow started, but was interrupted by his rotund partner.

"Silence, the both of you!" Tracker snarled. He turned on them, the black trench coat whipping around his body like a swirling shadow, his thin, lean body making him look like some sort of demonic apparition in the flickering lights. Pointing to each, he ordered, "Shadow, get into anything that can't be destroyed. If you can, disable the security measures and get rid of the cops. Fever, take watch – if anyone comes along, take care of them. Gravity, I want you to smash through those doors. I believe we're close."

"And who said you –" Shadow was about to demand, but a cold look from Tracker silenced him immediately. Tracker responded shortly, "And if _anyone_ complains…I'll deal with you personally."

His orders were met with resolute silence. Shadow didn't complain and Fever stood back from the shreddings of cabinets. Moving to the front of the room, she jumped onto the banisters above, crouching low on the metal so she could peer outside the windows. Silent as the grave, her eyes glittered as the headlights of passing cars flashed by the windows. With one well-aimed finger, a shot of energy burst from her hand and destroyed the light box below. The lab was suddenly shrouded in darkness.

Gravity, pushing his way through the cramped space, headed for the double doors at the end of the room. Raising his fists, he smashed them into the metal, creating huge craters but not quite unhinged. Another swing and the doors blew away like delicate leaves in the wind, paving the way for Tracker to enter the next room.

This one was filled with clear boxes and windowed cells for observing specimen and creatures, creating a long hall. Strangely, every single one of them was empty, but Tracker didn't let that bother him. It was one less problem he had to worry about.

At the end of the hall was a large, odd looking machine. Tracker didn't know what it was, nor did he care, but instantly he knew it was what he was looking for. The tugging in his gut told him so. Besides, he wasn't named Tracker for nothing.

Tracker let a small smile grace his pale lips. This was one of the few moments when he allowed himself to show true, unhidden emotion: just at the moment of triumph. That fifty thousand was ripe for picking.

The machine resembled a mushroom, if that mushroom had been cut in half and had electrical energy coursing through it. It emanated a dim glow, casting a yellowish tint on the walls. Tracker approached it, reaching towards the trunk, where it connected to the ground. He traced his fingers across it, searching for the compartment that undoubtedly led to its interior. Scientists wouldn't be foolish enough not to allow themselves maintenance. Of course, they wouldn't make it easy, either.

It took Tracker only a minute to find it, feeling the almost indiscernible disturbance in the smooth metal, indicating a hatch. He tried to pry it open, but it was too tightly sealed. He sighed, the frustration causing a minor annoyance. Tracker turned back down the hall and called, "Shadow!"

"What?" the man asked, peering into the room, looking slightly translucent as though he were still in the process of infiltrating something. "Did you find it?"  
>"I think so." Tracker nodded, then motioned towards the machine. "But I need your help. It won't open from the outside."<p>

"I'm your man, Tracker," Shadow grinned, his canines unusually pronounced for a man who knew very little on how to protect himself. Solidifying and striding forward, there was a sort or bounce in his step as he approached Tracker, taking pride in that his skills were so dearly needed. This job needed finesse, and Shadow was here to provide it.

Tracker pointed to the place where the hatch was, and Shadow reached out, his fingers sliding through the metal like it was made of pudding. There was a small crack as the hatch was pulled off, revealing an intricate set of wiring and electrical panel underneath. Tracker leaned in, examining it. The hole had to be at least two by two feet – whoever made this was clearly thinking in terms of function instead of efficiency. Either way, it made Tracker's job very easy to find the capacitor. In the center, there was a small, silver compartment. Pressing his fingers against the tiny door, there was a click as it released, revealing a tiny computer chip the size of a quarter. It was shiny and black, nothing fancy. Reaching in, Tracker was just about to take it when slight vibration caught his ear.

He whipped around, alarmed, scanning the area. "Did you hear that?"

Shadow rolled his eyes. "I don't hear anything outside the realms of reality."

Tracker scowled, glaring at his partner. How helpful. Why couldn't his client give him a more useful tool instead of this one? It didn't matter, anyway – Shadow's comment didn't deter him one bit. Something was here. He could feel it.

But there was no other sound, no sign that there was an unwanted visitor crashing their raid. Tracker tried to concentrate, to locate the source, but he had very little to work with. His senses didn't pick anything up. Eventually, he gave up. Perhaps it was a mouse. He doubted it.

Fever was getting impatient up on her perch. She couldn't stand waiting – she wanted things to happen _now_. And to be reduced to guard duty! That was Gravity's job. She could be much more useful slashing through lead safes or cutting up attackers. It was amazing at all that they got this far –

"Nice view up here, huh?"

Fever jumped, nearly falling off the banister when she heard the voice. Spinning around, she stared in shock as someone (male, as she guessed from the voice) descended upside down from some sort of wire. She couldn't see him in the shadows but she was surprised by how young he sounded. Was this a kid?

But Fever wasn't going to allow herself to be duped. Her hands alighting with energy, she faced him with her fists raised to fire, and demanded, "Who are you?"

"Yes," he said, acting as if he were contemplating his earlier statement. He dropped down from the…string and landed lightly on the banister. "It's not a bad vantage point, although I suppose in your case, it's not the windows you should've been paying attention to."

"I'm giving you one more chance," Fever growled, the glow of her hands casting a stark shadows across her face, making it look rather menacing. "_Who are you_?"

"Well, that's easy." He said, then took a step forward into the moonlight. "I'll give you three guesses, and the first two don't count."

"Spiderman!"

"Dang," Spiderman grumbled, snapping his fingers in disappointment. "You're one of the smarter bad guys. And to think I was looking forward to mocking you."

Fever was on the verge of panic. What was she going to do? Policemen were easy. Security guards weren't even a problem. But Spiderman? This was different. She'd heard the stories, all the guys he's dunked, all the baddies he's taken on. Fever wasn't stupid when it came to her battles – she liked to pick the fights she knew she could win. And alone against Spiderman? She was as good as arrested.

Instead of attacking him, Fever cried, "Its Spiderman! He's here!"

There were exclamations in the other room, but Fever didn't have time to relay any more information before Spiderman swung a kick at her. She stumbled back, the thin banister almost making her fall again. Taking initiative, she ducked a punch and swiped her clawed hands at his face. Spiderman yelped as the searing heat nearly came into contact with his face. "Hey, watch the threads!"

Spiderman retaliated with a powerful round house kick, saying, "Do you have any idea how long it takes to patch these things up? Let me tell you, fighting bad guys is a lot faster."

Fever grunted when she landed, rolling on the ground as Spiderman dropped down beside her. Stumbling to her feet, she heard the pounding feet of her comrades behind her. A feeling of relief swept over her, and she told him, "You're outnumbered, Spiderman. What hope do you have at stopping us?"

"A pretty big one, now that you mention it," Spiderman replied cheerfully, dodging a flying tray thrown at him, then asked, "So, who do you work for? Goblin? The Big Man?"

"We don't work for anyone," Tracker growled, unhappy at the sudden turn of events. Suddenly, the mission became a bit more difficult. But not impossible. Outside he could hear approaching sirens. "But I'm sure our clients wouldn't mind paying extra once the Spiderman is out of their hair."

"So, neither the Goblin or the Big Man." Spiderman guessed, ducking a blow from Shadow, then tossing him aside when his back was turned. "Since they're bald. And crazy."

Tracker felt a trace of a smirk on his lips. Foolish spider.

"Hmm," Spiderman jumped back and flung a table out in front of him, protecting himself as Fever's clawed hands sliced through the metal, the edges singeing. "I'm not liking that grin on your face. Wait, don't tell me! Is it that creep Osborne?"

Tracker allowed himself a tiny chuckle. "Osborne hasn't a clue."

"A clue?" Spiderman half-yelped as Gravity attempted to crush him, jumping onto the wall and flipping over the brute's head. "So you're _not_ one of the guys he sent out to distract me?"

"Distract you?" Shadow stared at him. "From what?"

"Crime." Fever said, rolling her eyes. "Duh. We don't work for the Big Man."

"Then why are you here?" Spiderman asked, shooting a glob of web at Shadow, but was stunned to find that it went _through _him. That was new. These guys were smarter than the average super-powered thug.

Gravity, Fever, and Shadow surrounded him, Tracker slipping away. Spiderman shouted, but suddenly realized that the number of opponents had doubled. Blinking in surprise, Spiderman stared as three more hulking versions of the biggest one were on either side of him. All at once they lunged at him.

"Whoa, there!" Spiderman jumped into the air, over their heads. Sticking to the ceiling, he watched as the guy in the trench coat made his way into the other room. But before he could make it there, Spiderman shot a string of web from one wall to the other, effectively tripping the man as he entered the doorway. There was a cry of shock as he tumbled inside.

"Tracker!" Fever called, whipping around and going after him. She wasn't quite sure what made her so worried. Maybe it was the idea of him getting hurt, or Spiderman being an incredibly difficult and clever opponent, or she just needed a reason to get out of the fight. Jumping over the improvised trip wire, she went in after Tracker.

Shadow sneered at her, thinking that her concern for a jerk like Tracker was stupid and rather unhelpful. He figured they still had a chance to take down Spiderman, though. Besides, how could Spiderman catch him if he was intangible?

Spiderman couldn't figure these guys out. They were too organized, too sinister to be anything the Big Man cooked up. And Goblin never teamed up or hired supers. Who could they be working for and what would they want to do with this place?

That's when he noticed something in Shadow's hand. It was a tiny black object, something he kept dropping every time he became insubstantial. Looking around, Spiderman saw a decent-sized stool in a corner. Using his web, he slung it with all his might at Shadow. "Head's up!"

Shadow gasped, and managed to phase just in time from being knocked over. Unfortunately, he lost his grip on the capacitor and it clinked to the ground. But just as he was about to bend over and pick it up, it was snatched away. "Hey!"

"Finders keepers," Spiderman laughed, jumping away from Shadow. "Although, I suppose it already belonged to someone – does that still count?"

"Hand it over, Spiderman," Shadow demanded.

"I have a better idea," he said, then took a step back and threw back his arm. "Fetch!"

Shadow watched as the chip sailed through the air and into the other room. Forgetting Spiderman, he ran after it. There was no way he was going to lose it now! Tracker would kill him! And he'd be out on half a million bucks!

Only Gravity was left, still divided into three of himselves. They all turned to Spiderman at once, after finally untangling themselves.

"Oh, hey now," Spiderman raised his hands in surrender. "Let's not all team up on Spidey at once."

The duplications didn't listen. Instead, they charged.

Spiderman forced himself to wait, although his spidey sense was screaming at him to get out of the way. But he knew what he was doing. One Mississippi…Two Mississippi…three!

At the last possible second, Spiderman threw himself out of the way. The ground shook as all three Gravity's freight-trained past, and there were cries as they crashed inside the other room. The ground shook some more, and there was the sound of something breaking, some more screams, then silence.

Complete, utter silence.

Spiderman wasn't quite sure what had happened. Why did everything get suddenly so quiet? Was this some sort of trick the bad guys were playing on him? It didn't sound so far off, but it wasn't like they had a whole lot of time to plan. And a sudden stampede of 300 pound brutes tended to leave a damper on things.

Spiderman counted to thirty before he got up, wary of what was going to happen next. He peeked into the next room, wondering if an ambush was waiting for him. "Alright, guys, enough playing games! You can't –"

He stopped midsentence, startled by what he found. Amidst the rubble and broken down walls, there lay….nobody. "…Hide forever?"

The room was completely empty, devoid of any bag guys whatsoever. Even the duplications had suddenly disappeared. The only thing left standing was the strange mushroom machine at the back, still shining its eerie light. How could they have gotten away?

Spiderman wasn't too concerned, however. It's happened before, and in stranger cases. Maybe. But when he found the black computer chip lying harmlessly on the ground, he decided it could've been a lot worse. Picking it up, he wondered why something so small was so important. What did it even do, anyways?

He slipped it into his pocket. He could ask later, while investigating. So maybe he didn't nab the bad guys, but at least they didn't get what they wanted. In other words, a job well done. Slipping out of the building and evading the police, Spiderman was pleased with himself.

And besides, he had homework to catch up on.


	2. Chapter 2

**I know this is going against my plan of working on one story at a time, but I figured Mentoria deserved another chapter for being patient with me for so long. I don't know when the next chapter will come out and I'm certainly not guaranteeing anything, but hopefully this may dissaude you from wanting to strangle me in frustration =)**

**Read and Review!**

**EDIT: Had to make a couple changes, the four villains were a little too big, heh heh...**

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><p>Chapter Two<p>

**New York City**

**9:21 AM**

Peter Parker was pretty average, if he did say so himself. He was pretty smart, stayed out of the limelight, had some good friends (one of whom was a very attractive cheerleader), had a job, and some serious potential for MIT.

Peter Parker was also Spiderman. But it wasn't like he could put that on his resume.

Having a secret identity was a lot like…well, Peter wasn't sure what it was like. Perhaps like keeping a really big secret, for yourself, from everyone you do and don't know. It could get risky. People could get hurt. But it would be a lot worse if his enemies realized Spiderman was just a nerd with special abilities. He had a reputation to keep up!

And despite all the angst and frustration a secret identity gave him, Peter didn't mind it so much when he had benefits. Maybe not the media-totally-gives-him-unfair-coverage-no-thanks-to-his-boss-Mr.-Embolism-Jameson, but the He-gets-to-kick-butt-and-even-his-own-tormentor-worships-him was worth it. And the interesting phenomenon where girls seemed to notice him more at school ever since he became Spiderman. Maybe they were drawn to his new-found confidence, or his mysteriousness. Or maybe girls had the innate ability to sense powerful people. Who knows?

He had a hard time concentrating at school that day, however. Last night not only put him back on study time, but the strange disappearance of the burglars left him worried. He wanted to think they were some dumb goons who got in way over their heads, but most dumb goons don't get special powers from nowhere. And if they got away, when would they show up again?

Peter paid more attention to the black computer chip than his English teacher, Miss Montague. He usually listened to her lectures, but it wasn't like English was his favorite class. Now, science? _That_ was a class worth sitting through. Peter had asked most of the teachers in the science and technology wing if they recognized the chip, but none of them had ever seen it before. This bothered Peter – was this some sort of secret technology that only really smart government people knew about? Was this some sort of key to an interdimensional vortex, and without it, the thing was useless? What had Peter stopped (or started) by taking this seemingly unimpressive bit of computer tech?

He couldn't wait for school to end. Peter had to go the lab, see what Dr. Connors' knew. Hell, if anything, he knew more than a high school teacher. And it might help him figure out what it goes to and why those baddies wanted it so bad.

Peter hoped it wasn't expensive or belonged to the government. The last thing he needed was the media _and_ the FBI on him for crimes he (probably didn't) commit.

OoOoO

"Sorry, Peter," Dr. Connors shook his head, handing the little device back. "I've haven't a clue what it does."

Well, that stinks. The smartest person on Spidey's side couldn't even figure it out. What was he going to do now? It wasn't like he could just go back to the scene of the crime and poke around –

Oh, wait. Yes he can.

After saying thanks and walking out the building, Peter ducked into a dark corner. It smelled here, no thanks to the dumpsters, but it would have to do. Quickly pulling off his civvies and stuffing them into his backpack, Peter checked if the coast was clear before slinging his way into the city.

Spiderman knew Manhattan like the back of his hand, even before it was covered with a red glove. If there was one city you could never stay lost in, it had to be here. It was so organized, so neat that even fifty feet above, Spiderman knew exactly where he was. And he had to admit, after a bad day at school, it was always a blast to go through Fifth Avenue and give those tourists a show. The screams of admiration and love from his fans – you can't get any better than that.

The lab was to the east, near the river. There were no cars there, but he could still see the tire tracks that the emergency vehicles left behind. The place looked downright abandoned, with its broken windows and half of the building scorched due to a malfunction in the electricity system.

Sneaking through a broken window, Spiderman clung to the walls as he scoured the area for any more activity. Who knows, maybe they'd come back for whatever they wanted. Or just destroy the entire place. Because sometimes they do that.

But Spiderman's first impression was correct – there was _no one_ here. He eventually found the room where the fight took place. The mushroom machine had been removed, leaving a giant white mark on the wall, someone had accidentally spilled his coffee all over the place.

Dropping his backpack on one half of a broken lab table, Spiderman wandered around, hoping to find some evidence, some clue as to who were those strange villains. They were unlike most he encountered, since most were just petty criminals. But as supervillains? Granted, they could barely hold a candle to the Sinister Six, but Spiderman chose to remain wary. It wasn't like he got time to know these guys. Maybe they were more powerful than he thought, even if they didn't really show it the first time around.

Or maybe they were just ineffectual bad guys. He met a couple of those, too.

Ha-ha, the Ineffectual Four! Just when Spiderman thought he couldn't get any funnier, he surprises himself.

Besides the occasional acid-burned marks, he couldn't seem to find anything suspicious. For a bunch of first-timers, they were careful in not leaving behind evidence. He had to give them credit, at least they could clean up after themselves.

Resigned, Spiderman grabbed his backpack and showed himself out.

oOo

"I can't believe it!" Shadow exclaimed, pointing up hundreds of feet above them.

Well, it wasn't exactly hundreds of feet, but when you're the size of an ant, it puts a lot of things into perspective. And when you're only an eighth of an inch high, just about anything, even if it's Spiderman, will look like a miracle.

"What's he doing here?" Fever demanded, scowling. It's been over twelve hours and nothing had happened. Even worse, she lost her powers. Now she couldn't incinerate stuff even if she wanted to! "Will he find us?"

"No." Tracker said. The other three turned to him, expectant, but he didn't elaborate. Fever's scowl deepened and Shadow just rolled his eyes, but Gravity actually caught on pretty quickly. Raising a meaty hand into the air, he pointed to the backpack left on the table, which wasn't really a table anymore. "Go in there."

Tracker didn't need to give a command for all of them to race over there. But even though they were running as fast as they could and the distance between them and the bag couldn't have been more than twenty feet, if felt like miles. And leaping over those giant cracks in the floor? Talk about exercise.

By the time they reached the bag, they were exhausted. Shadow bent over, gasping for breath, while Gravity couldn't even stand on his own two feet. Tracker decided not to insult their lack of initiative, instead trying to find enough air to give command. Not taking his eyes off of Spiderman, he counted the seconds of their recovery, before deciding that five minutes was far too long to catch your breath. The table was at a slant and the backpack had slid to the floor, making for easy access.

Pushing Shadow out of the way, Tracker made his way to the bag. It was upright, but didn't take too much to knock over. It didn't alert Spiderman, so they were able to sneak in unnoticed.

"Ugh!" Fever gasped as the smell of the inside washed over her. She glanced at a fold of jeans, wondering why the place would be filled with clothes. "This reeks! Why do we have to go in here for?"

"Yeah!" Shadow agreed, hand over his mouth. It was dark in there and almost impossible to see him if you didn't already know where he was. "I mean, why can't we hitch a ride in one of those comfy little pockets? They probably don't smell as bad."

"The dimensional capacitor is here." Tracker replied bluntly.

"How the hell would you know that?" Shadow sneered. "None of our powers work, and neither do yours!"

This wasn't true. Tracker didn't have what most people would consider a real superpower. It was something hard to define, but if Tracker wanted it, by God he would find it. There was no scientific explanation for it, no reason for it to work – it just did. But aside from that, he had incredibly honed senses, as well as martial arts experience (something Shadow wouldn't know about). His hearing was beyond amazing and sense of touch phenomenal. It was also the reason he wore some very well made gloves. After discovering he could feel small dirt, dust, and hair particles on surfaces, it irritated him to no end. The soft gloves not only kept his fingers safe, but also soothed his otherwise obstructive nerves.

Shadow was also correct (as amazing as that was): ever since the shrinking, Tracker discovered he could not sense or feel as much as he could before. They were almost eaten by a giant mouse, one that he didn't hear until it was two feet away. Not only was it embarrassing, but it almost got him killed.

Shadow was still wrong, though. While Tracker could no longer find the capacitor if he wanted to, he already knew it was here. Spiderman had taken it, that was for sure, and he was unlikely to keep it anywhere except on his person, where he probably deemed it safest. No person, superhero or not, would want this to fall into the wrong hands. So it had to be here. It had to be.

There was a giant lurch as the bag was hefted into the air. Fever gasped as she clung to the jeans for dear life. Shadow uttered a childish scream before whacking his head against a zipper and knocking himself out. Gravity grunted something unintelligible as he fell head first into a crevice. Tracker himself remained absolutely silent as they were taken out of the lab building and into the late afternoon sky.


	3. Chapter 3

**I meant to upload it this weekend, as a reply to the email you sent me, Mentoria, but I guess I was a little late. . I'm kind of glad about how this chapter turned out. And no, I didn't chose Gravity's name for how great of a joke I could turn it into. It was kind of on accident...**

**Anyways, Read and Review!**

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><p>Chapter Three<p>

**New York City**

**4:48 PM**

Spiderman still felt frustrated as he made his way home. The little chip could be anything, anything in the world, and he'd never figure out what it was because the machine was gone and so were the scientists. How did they not notice it go missing as well?

Swinging through the city made Spiderman feel a little better about himself. At least if anything new happened, chances were he was going to hear about it. Maybe he'd find out what was so important about the tiny chip.

Or maybe not. If the Ineffectual Four never showed up again, that was perfectly fine by Spiderman. Who needs more arch nemesis's?  
>As he made his rounds, Spiderman dunked a couple robbers and intervened in a hostage situation at a bank. Several times he backpack almost got ripped apart by gunfire, and Spiderman groaned inwardly. How the heck was he going to explain to Aunt May the bullet holes riddling his pants? She'd think he'd gotten into a gang war! (Which technically he did, but that was a different matter entirely).<p>

But he left all situations mostly unhurt – as he made his way home, he had the strangest feeling that he was being followed. He kept looking around, but he didn't notice anything. Then again, it would've been hard to tell, swinging through the air so fast he was beating both the 5 o'clock rush hour and the bus he was supposed to be on right now.

Spiderman personally hoped the Big Man hadn't taken a sudden interest in him again, or that a new super baddie had turned up and wanted to size up the city hero. The last time that happened, a crazy cat guy kicked his butt and almost killed him. Like, a dozen times. Why couldn't they just stay in jail?

When he got home, he soon discovered that Aunt May was not home. A hand written note left on the refrigerator informed him that she was out with friends and that she left supper in the freezer, followed by instructions on how to cook it.

Dropping the bag on the desk, Peter turned on the TV and rummaged through the cupboards looking for something to eat. He was still dressed as Spiderman – something he liked to do at home alone. In the one place where no one could see him, Peter could look and act however the heck he wanted to. It almost made secret identities worth it!

His backpack tipped and smashed into the ground. Peter jumped – as the backpack landed, he heard a strange sound. Turning around, he examined the bag, but there wasn't anything strange about it. The only way he could describe the sound was as if several voices had suddenly cried out in terror, and were suddenly silenced.

But that didn't make any sense. Shrugging to himself, Peter took out a box of crackers and sat down to watch TV.

oOo

To put it mildly, the Ineffectual Four had a very uncomfortable trip inside that backpack. They soon learned that just because the bag is closed doesn't mean that you won't avoid breaking your neck almost a dozen times.

They had hidden themselves too well – with Spiderman unaware of their presence, he had nothing to stop him from tossing the backpack around like a chew toy – every jolt, swing, and lurch threatened to dump them _all_ out of the bag and into thin air below.

It was Spiderman's jeans that saved Tracker from the worst of the flight. He managed to climb inside a pocket as they were tossed around inside like pinballs, the confined and cushioned space protecting him from the worst of the trip. He could hear the screams of his companions as they tried to save themselves, but Tracker refused to help them at the sake of his own life.

Suddenly, they heard the rattling of gunfire. Tracker looked around wildly, but remembered he was too small and stuck in a hero's pants pocket. Outside, he could hear the shout of voices. Angry voices. And people crying. There was the muffled sound of sirens and street traffic. In the distance, he could hear: "…Jessica Jones, here with an update on the hostage situation at Frank & Miller's Family Bank, where Spiderman has intervened…"

"_Hostage situation_?" apparently, Shadow heard the reporter as well. "Is this guy _crazy_?"

"He's Spiderman, moron," Fever snarled, finally managing to give him a piece of her mind now that they weren't flying around quite as violently as before. She had wrapped herself around a belt loop, wrapping her limbs around it like an octopus. "It's his job to do stupid things! That's just what heroes are supposed to do!"

"Ha! I'm glad I'm not him!"

"Why? Don't tell me you _like_ being smaller than a Tic-Tac, do you?"

"Well, no, but that's not what I meant –"

"Then shut up! We're in as much danger as that idiot, as long as we're here with him!"

"Hey, don't tell _me_ to shut up!" Shadow snapped, sticking a thumb to his chest. He had currently found sanctuary in a deep fold of jean, so his voice was somewhat muffled. "I'm not the one who totally – _AHHHHHH!_"  
>Tracker's stomach surged into his throat as the bag suddenly plummeted – then smashed into the floor. He was nearly launched out of the pocket, but he grabbed the inner white lining and almost snapped his own neck trying not to fall out. The landing forced him into the ground – it seemed as though the bag had landed upside down into the ground, and Tracker's face with it. There were the cries of pain from his companions, but none of them appeared of have died.<p>

The sounds of battle and witty comebacks urged Tracker and the rest to observe the fight, but they were all too sore to do anything but groan and pray that maybe Spiderman would forget his backpack.

Then, all too soon, the bag was lifted again. Tracker groaned as his stomach did flips the higher they went. More gunshots, and they all screamed in terror as bullets ripped themselves through the bag. Shadow had almost been split in two as a bullet ripped through his safe spot – had he not jumped out of the way at the last moment, he would become a grease spot in some super's jeans.

Wind rushed in through the new ventilation system. Tracker swallowed the terrified lump in his throat as he stared at the hole at his feet – through the ruined jeans and backpack fabric, he could see the outside world. He didn't want to find a new hiding spot, but was too afraid of being knocked around and out of the hole to stay inside the pocket. Shaking violently, he wrapped his fingers around the fibers of the lining and pulled himself out.

Shadow had latched himself onto Fever, who was too busy clinging to the belt loop to shake him off. Meanwhile, Gravity was swinging wildly on a zipper, slapping against the wall of the bag repeatedly. He was only capable of saying, "_Ow_, _ow_, _ow_, _ow_…."

Tracker scrambled, his grip slipping as the bag swung around. He flipped on his bag and felt head over heels between the wall of the bag and a textbook. The weight of the textbook was tremendous – if he didn't move _fast_, it could very easily crush him.

The smooth surface of the book provided no fixtures to climb on, so he had to use the inside of the backpack to pull himself out of the way of danger – and just in time, too. With a mighty heave, Tracker managed to hauled himself out of the way before the book fell against the wall. His breath came out in a deep whoosh, relieved.

"You know, for something that was supposed to save us," Shadow called over the rushing of the wind. "This place is a total deathtrap!"

The general consensus agreed. Fever suggested getting out of there, but Tracker knew there was no feasible way to do that until Spiderman dropped the bag again (and assuming the fall didn't kill them, either).

That was when Tracker noticed a change in the pattern of the tumbling bag. They were no longer reeling back in forth – instead, they were simply…flying. It was so smooth that Tracker had almost forgotten how much danger they were in a second earlier. Why had it suddenly stopped?

The realization that they were descending – and picking up speed – clued him in. At the last second, he cried, "Take cover!" as he threw himself into the nearest spot he could find: a dirty, stinky sneaker.

_WHUMPH!_

Tracker's back slammed into the back of the shoe as Spiderman collided into something. There was a grunt of pain as someone (probably big, brutish, and ugly) got the full force of Spiderman's blow. "Ugh!"

"Man, you guys get uglier each time I catch you," Tracker heard Spiderman remark as he jumped up – high, apparently, perhaps on a lamppost. "Is there, like, a whole factory where they just spew you guys out for me to catch?"

The thug he was fighting just uttered a guttural snarl, but whatever that amounted to mustn't have been much, because from the sound of it, he got dunked head-first into an empty trashcan.

"Apparently, they've been cutting back on the intelligence quota to make up for it," Spiderman. "Big, ugly, but not too smart. Sorry, man, but you were totally outmatched."

And just like that, they were off again.

Through the fold, he could hear the sound of someone mumbling. Pulling himself out, he saw Fever with her eyes squeezed shut, muttering a prayer of some sort. Her hands were clasped together. Shadow's eyes were wide as he listened to her. At first, Tracker thought she was speaking in Latin or something, but listening harder, he realized she was just speaking very, _very _fast. "_Idon'twanttodieIdon'twanttodieIdon'twantodieIdon'twanttodie…_"  
>"Amen, sister," Shadow said, looking up as the top of the bag opened – the buckle seemed to have undid itself after all the wear and tear it had been through that day. There was a giant vortex as the bag sucked in air. Tracker clung as the wind threatened to yank him out.<p>

Then…_SNINCKT!_

The zipper Gravity had been holding on to snapped. Gravity was sent flying around and around… and around… and out the bag.

"Gravity, no!" Shadow shouted, immediately letting go of Fever and grabbing hold of the jeans. He pulled himself to the lip of the opening, but the wind was so rough he didn't dare look out. Tracker thought Gravity was a goner for sure, but he stared in amazement as Shadow stuck out his hand and shouted, "Grab hold!"

A giant meaty hand wrapped around Shadow's forearm, but they only succeeded in yanking Shadow out further. Fever realized what was going on and reached up to help, wrapping her hands around Shadow's ankle and pulling him down. "Come on, don't let go!"

Tracker watched in amazement as they slowly pulled in Gravity – slowly, because every heave and roll threatened to throw them _all_ out. Tracker was too far away to help, and was surprised to find that he was silently cheering them on. Why the sudden empathy? He didn't care for these idiots!

As it was, Shadow and Fever's efforts to save Gravity were becoming weaker. Even though they had been reduced to a tiny size, Gravity was still huge and heavy to their standards, and they weren't strong enough to pull him in. A bump caused Fever to lose grip on Shadow's legs, in turn sending him shooting forward several inches. He cried out in terror as Gravity's weight started pulling him towards the edge.

Their grip was slipping. Shadow realized that he couldn't pull Gravity up on his own. Gravity was clinging on to him for dear life. The bag bucked and just like that – he was gone.

"NO!" Shadow yelled, but it was no use. Gravity had simply disappeared.

The man slid back into the bag, defeated and worn out. Fever took his arm and forced him to grab hold of a belt loop, so they didn't lose him, too. She looked shell-shocked, almost upset. Neither of them spoke. Tracker felt indifferent to the whole matter.

He _did_ find it ironically amusing, however, that the fellow named Gravity fell to his death. They walked right into that one.

The rest of the trip was a terrifying, death-defying, and utterly silent rollercoaster trip. Spiderman took out another thug, quipped, "I know Granny's cupcakes are good, but you should've done something a little more high-class to get thrown into jail. I mean, come on, if you're gonna get caught, might as well go out with a bang!" and with that, went home.

Tracker didn't understand that it was "home" until the sudden roughness of the flight ceased and he could clearly sense that Spiderman was no longer swinging, but walking. The sound of a window opening and a TV being turned on kind of gave it away.

There was a heavy thump and Spiderman dumped the bag on the table. The three villains yelped as they were tossed around. Tracker waited several minutes before deciding to get up, afraid that if Spiderman decided to pick up the bag again, another jostle would get himself killed. But nothing happened, nothing at –

"Oh, crap!"

Shadow was the first to notice the bag was tilting the wrong way. They tried to scramble for the opening, to get onto the table before they plummeted with the bag, but the three of them could not reach the opening fast enough. They all cried out in terror as the bag flipped upside down and landing into the tiled kitchen floor.

The entirety of the bag's contents landed on them. The air was crushed out of Tracker's lungs, rendering him silent and gasping for breath. He couldn't see anything, or hear the presence of his companions. Trapped under several insurmountable pounds of clothes, schoolwork, and a backpack riddled with bullet holes, Tracker realized that he may never get out of there alive.

This was one nightmare that had turned all too real.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry this came in a little late - I wanted to upload this yesterday on Halloween, but I had a performance in theater and I didn't get home till 9:30. So...here's the next chapter! **

**Read and Review!**

**(PS - you don't have to write a disclaimer! Fanfiction already knows the source matter doesn't come from us =P)**

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><p>Chapter Four<p>

**Forest Hills**

**4:50 PM**

"_Hey, hey!_" he could hear the distant call of a female voice. Darkness was crushing him, and Tracker couldn't move. "_Come on, man, don't leave me hanging! Wake up!_"

A sharp jolt and Tracker jumped. His hand shot to his hip, grabbing the hilt of a dagger in his belt. But his arm refused to move – the darkness was solid now, suffocating him. Tracker kicked and struggled, but it didn't move. He started to panic and opened his mouth to cry out, but that same darkness filled his mouth as well.

Suddenly, arms wrapped around him and pulled him out. Air rushed into Tracker's lungs. He gasped for breath as he was blinded by bright white light. Faces appeared in his vision, but they were just black silhouettes. It took him a full two minutes to gather himself and overcome his nausea. Tracker looked around, not recognizing the kitchen or the guy in the suit watching TV. Was that Spiderman eating a banana? Why was he so huge?  
>"Hey, how're you feeling?" came a female voice. Tracker looked around. Fever was looking a little….ill…but otherwise she seemed okay. Her hair was a tangled mess and one of her gloves had gone missing, revealing a burnt black hand. There was a large bruise on her cheek. "It took us forever to find you."<p>

"Yeah, man," Shadow added, running a hand through his cropped hair. There was a large gash on his forehead and his clothes were torn, which offered Tracker some satisfaction. The man who could once phase through solid object almost got crushed under a giant backpack. "We thought you were goner."

"Where's the chip?"

Both Fever and Shadow looked a little disappointed that this was the first thing to come out of Tracker's mouth, but neither complained. Shadow just shrugged and Fever shook her head. "We couldn't find it. The bag is too big to look through."

Tracker scowled. "Well, you better keep looking, shouldn't you? It's not going to find itself with you two just standing there."

Shadow rolled his eyes. Fever's fists clenched. Had she still had her powers, she would be glowing with radioactive energy. Tracker picked himself and dusted himself off. He had no time to waste. The faster they got the chip, the quicker they could get out of here. He just wanted to be his normal size again. And that cash. There was no way he was getting out of this without his cash.

They edged away from him, but neither were enthusiastic about climbing through the backpack again. With Spiderman so close, they were mostly fearful of getting caught, or crushed, or stepped on, or falling in between the tiles or getting swallowed by the backpack again…

There were just too many dangers. Even Tracker was beginning to feel hesitant about completing the mission. It'd be much more effective if they were their normal size again. Or at least five inches taller.

He had remembered once, long ago when he was but a little deranged child, that he wanted to be the size of an ant, just to see what it was like.

Well, now he was smaller. Tracker hated children.

The bag had upended on itself. A camera and textbook had fallen out, creating gigantic structures on the floor – formidable fortresses that would take forever to surmount. Tracker had half a mind to climb them, for the advantage of height, but the idea of getting back down wasn't enticing.

They made their way back to the bag. Shadow was muttering to himself when he decided to look up at the lounging Spiderman, who didn't even seem to care that his bag had fallen and made a mess. Which was just fine with Shadow – he would've done the same in the hero's position. Who likes to clean when you had someone else to do it for you?

Spiderman seemed to be completely unaware that there were three depowered criminals in his house. Boy, would their employer love to know the identity of the wall-crawler! He would double the pay! But Shadow was too small to see his face…

(And the table was in the way).

Tracker considered the legs of the table, frowning. If only they had a way to climb it. As much as he hated to admit it, Tracker was beginning to worry that their only chance to get out of here was to get Spiderman's attention and somehow convince the hero to help them. The chances were minimal and it made Tracker's skin crawl. He _hated_ asking for help. It was just another sign of weakness.

He decided to reserve that idea until they had absolutely no other options. As for now, he had to keep thinking of more ideas. Even Shadow was smarter than this.

Their footsteps made no sound on the tiled floor. It was disturbing to think that their mass was so small that even normal people sounds were beyond their capabilities. Tracker and co. had been reduced to dust mites that even little children weren't afraid of.

Fever finally spoke, breaking the rather still silence. "I can't _believe_ he's watching General Hospital! It's so clichéd!"

Shadow and Tracker stared at her.

"What?" she looked from one to the other, her eyes wide in innocence.

Shadow rolled his eyes while Tracker considered taking her out, just to save future annoyances, but he knew he was going to need as many hands if they were to get out of here. Scowling, he swept to the backpack. Although his powers were gone, he knew the chip was still here. And there was no way he was leaving without it.

Tracker's first attempt at finding it ended fruitlessly. He had to climb into the bag, which was an adventure in itself (who knew frayed ends could be so deadly?), and looking through all the pockets was hell. After an hour of searching, he was covered in lint and smelled of dirty socks. Meanwhile, Shadow had decided to spend the time carving his dying words into the wood of the table leg, while Fever was watching the TV with avid intensity.

Tracker couldn't take it anymore. Progress had to be made. _NOW._

Jumping down a flap of fabric, he moved with a force that was impossible not to notice. Both heads turned to him as he strolled towards the nearest object he could find that would serve his uses. A flick of his hand and both Shadow and Fever were rushing to his side, and although Fever kept giving sidelong glances at the TV, he knew he could have her full attention at a single command. Striding up to the camera (which actually took a minute or two), he pointed at the piece of tech and ordered, "Get it to stand."

"_What_?" Shadow stared at him. "That thing's got to weigh a ton! We can't pick that up!"

"_Do. It._"

Shadow refused to move. Fever glanced at him before sidling away in apprehension.

Tracker leaned in, withdrawing his knife. "Let me remind you – simply because you have lost all your most important qualities doesn't mean I have lost all of _mine_. If you prove to be a liability, I will not hesitate to remove you from the problem."

Shadow's eyes widened and his Adam's apple bobbed. Then, nodding quickly, he scurried towards the camera, threw a look at Fever, then started to lift the camera.

Tracker was impressed by how strong his henchmen were – he'd rather die than admit it, though – as they managed to get the camera standing in about fifteen minutes. He did not help, and as he thought, they didn't need it. Struggling profusely and sometimes slipping on the smooth tile, both Fever and Shadow were covered in sweat and gasping for breath by the time it was over. Not congratulating them, Tracker strode up to the camera, activated the ON switch with a mighty heave, and actually smiled when there came a small beep as the camera screen flickered to life.

He let his henchmen rest as he slid the camera across the floor. Spiderman was too focused on the TV to notice the camera moving, the speakers covering any noise they made. After Tracker got it in the position he wanted, he climbed the strap to the top of the camera. Checking the screen every couple seconds to make sure he had the angle right, Tracker stomped on the clicker.

What Tracker hadn't been planning on, however, was that there would be a blinding flash of light, a very audible click, and losing his footing as his corneas burned. The camera barely trembled as Tracker plummeted to the floor.

He was dazed for barely a second, managing to land on his feet instead of his face, and scrambled out the way as quickly as he could when Spiderman got up at the sound of his camera taking a picture. Spiderman got off his butt and reached down to take the fallen camera – as his fingers wrapped around the camera, Tracker double backed and lunged for the rising cord. His fingers wrapped easily in the fibers. Fever and Shadow quickly caught on to what he was doing and quickly followed suit. The ground twirled dizzyingly beneath them as Spiderman twisted the camera around to examine it.

Then, after a second of checking the screen, Spiderman shrugged and placed the camera on the table. The three depowered criminals crashed into wood, nearly getting crushed, but the flexibility of the cord saved them.

They let go and dropped to the table, unnoticed. While Shadow was shaking and Fever looked sick, Tracker found himself rather unaffected, with little bruises and only a sore ankle. In fact, he was quite pleased with himself.

Tracker brushed himself off, smirking. Everything had gone according to plan. He was right where he wanted to be.

Spiderman wouldn't know what hit him.

OoOoO

Spiderman had no idea what was going on.

Ever since he left the lab he had the strange feeling he wasn't alone – but every time he looked around, he never saw anyone. Not in the room, or out the window, or on the news. He was completely alone.

The very sensation sent shivers down Spiderman's back. Did superheroes always have paranormal experiences like this, or was it just him? Spider senses were great and all, but he'd rather leave the ghosties alone to…um, ghost.

His 'paranormal' experiences did not end there, however, to Spiderman's creeped out annoyance. At one point, his camera went off – scaring the living bejesus out of Spiderman. The flash caught him by surprise, getting him right in the eye.

In pain and confused, Spiderman shook his head and turned to the camera, which was right side up and aimed at him. How did it get over there? Why wasn't it in his bag, like he had left it just an hour before –

Spiderman noticed his bag was also on the floor. Oh.

He picked up the camera, checking to see if there was anything particularly unusual about it. It was room temperature, which left Spiderman relieved. He had heard rooms and objects getting cold from a ghostly presence, and he was pleased to discover this was not the case.

Spiderman checked the image the camera had taken – it was of him, at a low angle, eating some grapes. His face was still covered – if the ghosties was trying to get a candid of Spidey in his natural environment, they did a pretty good job. He didn't know how many people looked good eating food, but Spiderman _definitely_ pulled it off. Maybe if he cropped off the image a little bit, he could send it to the Bugle, or some art magazine…

Shrugging to himself, Spiderman figured the camera must have gone off when it fell to the ground. Placing it back on the table, Spiderman sat himself back on the table and returned to indulging in his favorite soap opera – who knew Superheroes weren't the only ones who had to deal with both assassination plots _and_ giant weather machines of doom?


	5. Chapter 5

Hey, guys, another chapter! This time closer to schedule! I don't think this one is as funny as the other ones, but I tried my best to keep the story going. The Ineffectual Four are back again!

And for those of you who are fans of General Hospital...I'm sorry that I totally butchered the show for you.

Read and Review, please!

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><p>Chapter 5<p>

**Spidey's Tabletop**

**5:20 PM**

What that plan was, exactly, was something for Tracker to decide.

He had three-fourths of his team left, and none of them were very helpful. Fever had trouble removing herself from the same drama Spiderman was engrossed with, and the only thing Shadow was contributing to was the number of complaints he'd made so far. It was hard to think, hiding behind the cereal bowl, keeping Fever out of sight, and trying to get Shadow to shut up. Tracker didn't have the _room_ to think.

And to top it all off, the height was giving him vertigo.

Tracker punched Shadow into silence and managed to pull Fever behind the bowl long enough to regain her attention. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed their help to get out of here. "Both of you, listen to me."

Shadow nodded, still rubbing his sore face, while Fever took a reproachful glance behind her at the TV before returning to him.

"The window," he pointed to the left, at the window above the sink. Late afternoon light was streaming in, washing the entire kitchen in a red-orange tinge. They're bodies, though small, casted considerably long shadows. "It's open by a crack. If we manage to get over there –"

"And how do you plan to do that, genius?" Shadow snapped, impatient with the whole deal. Had Tracker come up with this earlier, they'd be gone by now! Heck, if they just squeezed underneath the front door, they'd be out of there. "It's not like we can just mosey on over and –"

Tracker smacked him again. Shadow yelped and went silent. Tracker resumed dominance. "We aren't leaving without the chip. Spiderman can barely see us – we can use that to our advantage."

"How?" Fever asked, throwing her hands up. "I mean, he's huge! We can't hurt him at this size! The chip…do you even know where it is?"

Tracker smiled, which sent chills down Fever's back. She hated it when he did that – smiling was unnatural for Tracker, and it didn't suit him well. His perpetual frown was much more friendly and approachable.

"That, my narrow-minded minion," Tracker said, his voice low even though there was no chance that Spiderman could hear him. Fever frowned at the insult, but decided it best not to say anything. "Has already been taken care of. Look over there."

Tracker turned, pointing around the bowl at a place near Spidey's elbow, which was leaning on the table. Between the two empty banana peels and a stack of letters, something glinted in the warm sunlight. At first glance, it appeared to be just a quarter, but upon closer inspection, both Fever and Shadow recognized it for what it was.

"I can't believe it!" Fever breathed, eyes wide with awe. She dropped to her knees, leaning against the bowl. "It's right there. He _did_ have it all along!"

Shadow didn't even hang around for his next order. Without a word, he ducked out of the shadow of the bowl and made a headlong sprint towards the glittering chip. He was already half-way there before either Shadow or Tracker had the sense to stop him, but by then it was too late. "Don't worry, I've got it!"

Tracker seriously doubted that. "Get back here, you fool! He'll see you!"

For some reason, Spiderman didn't. He was far too engrossed with the drama (two hour premiere, who knew?) to realize the black streak making its way across the table top. But Shadow was dismayed to find how huge it was up close. It was the size of Jacuzzi; no way could he be able to carry back to the bowl, even if he went unnoticed. Not even Spiderman was dumb enough not to see the chip move entirely on its own across the wooden table.

But that wasn't enough to deter Shadow, however. He wanted to make Tracker proud (even though he hated him), or at least get some sort of gratitude or respect from it. He wrapped his fingers around the edge of it (the top came up to about his knees), and tried to haul it up. The thing was about as heavy as a dumb truck filled with lead.

Shadow refused to be defeated by a quarter. Mustering all his strength, he pulled and pulled, digging his feet into the table, slowly but surely moving the chip. After about ten minutes of this, he finally gave up, gasped for breath, then collapsed. Exhausted, Shadow checked to see how much distance he made.

It wasn't much more than 1/8 of an inch.

Shadow groaned in frustration. He turned to his comrades, who were both observing his struggle with pointed indifference, and yelled, "Hey, are you going to help me or what?"

Fever scowled and Tracker just sat there, expressionless. Shadow rolled his eyes and turned back to the chip. Maybe if he tried a little harder…

He didn't realize anything was wrong until he heard shouting behind him. And by then, he was already flying through the air.

As it turned out, the soap opera pulled a rather unexpected twist, which in turn sent Spiderman to his feet and his fist slammed on the table. It wasn't a hard hit, but when you're smaller than dust mite, a simple thump was suddenly enlarged into a 10 magnitude earthquake that shook the entire table. It sent Shadow, who weighed less than a helium balloon, soaring into the air.

He was vaguely aware of screaming, but he had no idea if it was his own or someone else's. All that he was aware of was the mash of colors as the world twirled around him: ceiling, floor, table, light – repeat – the deafening rush of air and, of course, abject terror.

It was a quick, if painful, fall.

He landed on something hard, but it didn't feel like tiled floor. The world was still spinning when he tried to get up, which only sent him falling back down again. Why was the floor curved all of a sudden? Where had he…?

Oh.

Shadow looked up. He had fallen off the table, but not onto the floor, no. In fact, he was fortunate enough for the chair to break his fall. On the table above him, however, was Fever and Tracker, yelling and waving their arms like mad at him. Shadow, still dazed, had absolutely no idea what kind of message they were trying to convey to him.

He never saw the shadow looming over him.

SPLAT!

Fever and Tracker flinched, looking away as Spiderman sat back down in his seat. While Fever was thanking her luck (or whatever was out there still keeping her alive) that she wasn't Shadow, Tracker was furious. How could he have been so _stupid_? He should've killed Shadow off before he actually became a problem!

Now there were only two supervillains left. Neither were feeling very good about their chances.

Together, Tracker and Fever managed to lift the chip on to its side, rolling down the tabletop as quickly as they could. Spiderman wasn't paying attention, thankfully – he was too busy trying to get over the shocking twist during the commercials.

They managed to bring it behind the bowl. Tracker, despite the recent loss in manpower, was almost happy. They finally had the chip under their control – _at last_. This would help them get back to their normal sizes and powers, as well as return to their client. Now that there were only two of them left, Tracker would now get a bigger share. Perhaps Shadow's untimely-but-equally-karmic death wasn't actually detrimental to Tracker's plan – he would soon be reaping the benefits!

Tracker smiled again (still creeping out Fever). The first stage of his plan was now complete. All they had to do now was bring Spiderman down, under his control, and make him take them back to the machine, turn them back, so Tracker can finally eliminate this red-and-blue menace from the earth.

OoOoO

Spiderman was reeling.

He knew there was _something_ going on between Dr. Brewer and that Cynthia chick. But, _jeez…_did they have to be so cold about it? And what about Angie? After that car accident and the assassin still on the loose – not even the police could protect her!

Holy crap…how could things go so wrong in just a matter of minutes? Not even Spiderman was capable of such feats of disaster!

Spiderman sat back down, trying to get over himself. Then, he smiled. Aunt May would be home soon – he couldn't wait to see the look on her face when he told her all about it.

As he sat back down, he heard a tiny squeak. He frowned, glancing at the chair. Was the chair getting old already? He shifted again, to see if the wood would make any more noise, but it was as firm and silent as ever. Strange.

But Spiderman didn't care. Sitting back and watching the commercials with disinterest, he wondered where the Ineffectual Four were now. They hadn't gotten the chip – did their client (or whoever they were getting it for) chew them out and destroy them in some sort of death machine? Or did they end up in jail, caught in act of another crime? He hadn't heard anything on the news lately.

He wondered how they were going to feed a giant man who could multiply himself – maybe they would just create a whole prison just for him. Man, taxpayers were going to _hate_ him.

Spiderman turned back to the table, perhaps to see if there were more bananas left, or if that cereal was too mushy for him to eat. As it turned out, it was, but that didn't bother him for too long. He noticed the chip was gone.

Had it fallen to the floor when he hit the table? Spiderman looked around, frowning to himself. He didn't think he'd hit it _that_ hard. And surely he would have heard it when it landed on the floor. Where did it go?

It occurred to Spiderman that although his life wouldn't exactly be considered normal…this was starting to get a little too weird, even for him. His skin tingled, and Spiderman still had that weird feeling he wasn't alone.

Maybe he should do something…

By golly, his show was back on! Spiderman righted himself, slinging over another banana – all this strangeness could wait. This was _much_ more important.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

**Still On Spidey's Tabletop**

**5:40 PM**

Tracker was losing his patience.

How could a superhero be so engrossed in a silly soap opera? It wasn't even that interesting! Growing up, Tracker had faced much worse in his neighborhood. This kid didn't know anything what it was like to fight assassins.

They needed a way out, but no opportunity had presented itself. Tracker supposed he could somehow get to the floor, drag the chip to the door, and slip out underneath, but the chip was far too heavy and the distance far too long for a dust mite. And Fever was providing no help whatsoever – she was as hooked on the TV as the superhero was.

So they sat behind the bowl, watching the TV. Tracker was getting anxious – it'd soon be dark out; dust mites and nighttime did not mix well. Hell, normal people and nighttime didn't mix very well, either. They'd be attacked by a squirrel or something.

But at least he _had_ the chip. That was good for something.

Another cliff hanger and a commercial break. With a loud groan, Spiderman got up and stretched, Goliath to their Davids. Only Tracker had no slingshot and he doubted there was much he could do to hurt Spiderman otherwise. The giant superhero strolled over to a shelf and opened a door, snatching a box from the top shelf with a _Thwip!_

The box rattled and it almost tipped, but Spiderman caught the box before its contents could spill. Tracker had to admit, he was impressed – the Webhead's reflexes were beyond anything he had ever seen before.

The hero then took milk from out of the fridge, a bowl from another cabinet, then a spoon from a drawer. Tracker watched intensely as the hero prepared himself a healthy bowl of cereal (Fever was too busy admiring the commercials). The whole table jumped as the bowl rested on top, and Spiderman began to eat. He came to a sudden stop, however, as the show returned.

By then, Tracker had come up with another idea.

He turned to Fever, but since she was still distracted, he gave her a hard nudge to get her attention. Fever glanced at him, but his death glare was lethal enough to pull her away from the TV. She scowled, but listened intently as Tracker spoke.

"Look," he pointed at the cereal bowl. It was just sitting there, languid, and Spiderman was clearly inattentive. "We can get his attention by standing on the edge and waving our arms. He'll see us, and if we convince him, he'll help us."

"Why would he help us?" Fever's scowl didn't change – she only became more disbelieving. Which only irritated Tracker further. Who was she to question his orders, his judgment? "We, like, tried to kill him."

"He's a superhero," Tracker countered, trying his hardest not to start hitting things. He shouldn't have to explain things, even if to someone intellectually inferior to him. "It's his duty to help the weak. We're weak, as far as he knows. He'll help us."

Fever was still scowling, but then it lightened and she shrugged. "If you say so."

She got up and traversed the entirety of a foot and a half in about half a minute. It took her awhile to figure out how to get on top of the bowl – the sides were too slick and smooth to climb, and the rounded edge was too great to get over. She looked around for some sort of makeshift ladder or ramp. Eventually, she decided to use the spoon, which was tipped over the edge, the concave end high in the air. The metal was smooth, but she managed to crawl up.

The height was dizzying, and the edge was thin. Fever clung to the side with her life. Suddenly, she wasn't so sure Tracker's idea was as great as he made it out to be. She'd much rather be watching TV instead of putting her neck on the line to get the attention of a stupid superhero.

It took Fever a minute to find her balance and stand on the edge. She threw up her arms, waving frantically and shouting at the top of her lungs. "Hey, big dummy! Look over here!"

Either Spiderman was deaf, or that show was _really_ good (Fever was so angry she was missing it), because he didn't even notice the shouting. Frustrated, Fever raised her voice to another octave, wishing she still had her powers. She could light up like a lava lamp – _then_ Spiderman would notice. But noooo…the stupid shrink ray thing had to take away the only good thing left about being small.

Fever flailed some more, but was rewarded in only making herself look silly. Spiderman didn't even notice her. She took another step to get closer. Fever forgot that there wasn't enough space to do that.

She screamed as she fell, but was suddenly silenced when she hit cold water. She was frozen, for a second, in shock, but her legs managed to kick again and she struggled for all she was worth to air. Fever was terrified to find that she couldn't see anything beneath the water.

As she broke surface to gasp for breath, Fever realized that it wasn't water at all inside the bowl. She was swimming in Spiderman's cereal.  
>Oh, no.<p>

Shouting for an entirely different reason now, Fever panicked. How could she get out of here? It wasn't like these people made little ladders inside bowls for all the shrunken supervillains that just happened to fall in! What was she going to do? Maybe Tracker could help her! He must've noticed her fall in; he'd try to get her out!

But as Fever waited for a rescue, none came. She waited, and waited…and waited some more, but nothing happened. How long had it been? Where was Tracker?

She was about to scream and shout some more, probably with some choice words thrown in to describe just how she felt right then, but that was when Fever noticed a huge shadow descending upon her.

Fever looked up. She screamed again.

She swam for all she was worth, but Fever didn't have a chance of outracing the spoon plunging into the milk. It scooped her, several flakes, and a giant lake of milk up and up and up…

Fever whirled around, looking over the edge for Tracker. She spotted him, sitting behind the fruit bowl with his arm's crossed, the chip at his side. Fever called out his name, terrified, but he only raised a hand and waved as she was about to be eaten.

Fever managed to scream one more thing before she was swallowed whole. "I hope I give you indigestion!"

_Gulp!_

Tracker looked up and smiled as his last henchwoman suddenly became part of a very delicious and nutritious part of morning – err, evening – supper. Her dying screams were music to his ears, as well as the future sounds of his client handing Tracker the _entire_ payload. He'd get to buy his size back, and perhaps by an island or two in the Caymans. He'd never have to come back to stinking, dirty Manhattan, or this ugly little town called Forest Hills. He'd never have to look at Spiderman again, or lower himself to speak to those with inferior intelligence to his own. Tracker couldn't wait to get out of here and put all this supervillainy behind him.

Tracker smiled. Sometimes greed paid off in the end.

But Tracker had no idea what had _really_ happened to Fever who was not, in fact, dead or being digested. During the process of being swallowed, Fever was small enough to fall on top of the splincer, a small muscle that allowed the food and drink of whatever someone was eating to pass through the esophagus and into the stomach. This was the _only_ time being small ever saved Fever's life, and she wasn't sure if she was happy about it or not.

She was seething with anger, first of all. How dare Tracker leave her there to die! He knew all along she'd somehow manage to get herself killed! And now he'll get all the money, too! It wasn't even fair – she did half of the work around here, the other two idiots who got themselves killed wasn't Fever's fault!

However, Fever was finding it difficult to rage. The air was thick and noxious here, thanks to the acid boiling in the stomach below. God, in all her life Fever never thought it would end in someone else's stomach. Maybe from cancer, or a drive-by shooting, but never by dying in someone else's digestive fluids.

Off-handedly, Fever wondered if Spiderman eating her made him a cannibal. She didn't know, but the thought made her feel better.

Fever rested on the muscle, disgusted yet minorly thankful she was still alive. She wasn't going to go until she made sure Tracker felt her revenge. On the off chance that Fever ever got to see him again, she was going to rip his head off. For real. Somehow.

She stewed there, half in misery and half in fury, fantasizing on all the ways she could kill and dismember Tracker. As if she ever thought of him as somewhat attractive – the very idea she had ever thought of him that way made Fever sick.

That bastard was going down!

OoOoO

Spiderman coughed a little as he swallowed his cereal. He seemed to have choked on something, but whatever it was, it couldn't stand the power of the spider. Maybe he was, like, choke-resistant or something. That'd be cool. Maybe spiders had this other ability where they could…

Oh, what was he talking about? It was probably just a soggy cornflake.

As Spiderman ate his cereal (trying to rush through the commercials), he couldn't help but think that the milk had suddenly gone bitter, although that didn't make any sense. Aunt May just bought this stuff yesterday. It couldn't possibly gone sour already, could it?

Unless it was just his luck that spiders could make milk curdle. Great.

But no, the milk was fine, and the expiration date was a week and a half from now. Maybe some strange dust got in and turned the milk into some strange superserum, that would somehow add to Spiderman's powers and turn him into, like – Spider-Dust-Man!

…What the hell was wrong with him today? Spiderman shook his head, disappointed with himself. It was probably that soap opera, planting seeds of idiocy into his brain. Bad ideas should stay on TV. Or maybe he just ate one too many bananas. Either way, Spiderman didn't need another unfortunate name to call himself.

He leaned over to the TV and smacked the top of it. Throughout the show, he had been hearing a strange squeaking noise, which was really annoying and made it hard to focus on the intense parts. The TV _was_, Spiderman noted_, _getting pretty old. He remembered watching Saturday morning cartoons on it when he was little. This thing probably saw the dinosaurs go extinct before Aunt May finally bought it. Maybe cavemen used it to hunt Saber tooth tigers or something.

The squeaking had stopped by the commercials and didn't return after that. Spiderman smiled, proud of himself. All you needed was a little percussive maintenance to fix a screwy TV. He learned that one from Uncle Ben.

Spiderman glanced out the window. The sun had almost set by now, a thin line of pale orange on the horizon. The sky was completely black, purple, and blue. He couldn't see any stars, but he was sure they were out there somewhere, congratulating him on fixing the TV.

It had been a good day superheroing today. Maybe he'd go out on another patrol tonight. As soon as Aunt May got home and made some proper dinner. Spiderman could never fight bad guys on a stomach full of cereal and bananas.

That was just asking for trouble.

As the show resumed an d Spiderman set down his spoon, he was suddenly under the impression that something wonderful had happened. A truly inspiring, thought-provoking action had occurred, and perhaps he was the one who performed it.

Or maybe that was just the cereal mixing with the bananas. Spiderman could never tell.


	7. Chapter 7

**Woo! Final Chapter! Thanks for the reviews, everyone =)**

**Read and Review!**

**EDIT: Added more to Spidey's POV, hope you like it.**

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><p>Chapter Seven<p>

**5:50 PM**

**Somewhere in Spiderman's Stomach**

Fever was beginning to have a fit. She was also having a tough time breathing. Who knew the insides of a superhero could be as disgusting as the outside of a supervillain?

Everything was weird and sticky and gross down here. Fever couldn't see a thing, but her touch was telling her way more than she needed to know. Her hair had gone frizzy with the humidity and she was really itching for a drink. As she sat there on the splincer, she wondered how Tracker was doing.

Tracker was doing great.

He was, in fact, gloating to himself about his achievement in ridding himself of every last annoying henchman that had been on this mission so far. That 300 million whatever was all his to take (as soon as he figured out a way to get back to normal), and now that he finally had the opportunity to retire from the mercenary business, he could live the rest of his long life happy and well-indulged. Perhaps in the Caymans. Or, even better, Hawaii. Or Tahiti.

Tracker had the chip. He had a way out. He had everything under control.

Except for Spiderman about to eat him.

It was too late for Tracker to do anything. He was about to use a banana from the fruit bowl to soften his landing to the floor, but he hadn't been counting on the fact that Spiderman would still be hungry after all the food he had eaten. Tracker couldn't believe this guy. He must've had the metabolism of a cheetah!  
>Of course, there was very little Tracker could do before the chip slipped from his grip, the banana soared into the air, and he unceremoniously swallowed.<p>

The descent was gross and very dark, and when he landed on a hard surface, Tracker was surprised that he hadn't been killed by stomach acid. He looked around, but that revealed nothing. Through the sounds of a heartbeat, lungs, and very full stomach below him, Tracker was under the impression he was not alone.

"YEAAARRRGH!" came a screech as Tracker was suddenly tackled from the right. He shouted but it was abruptly caught off when two hands wrapped around his throat.

They rolled across the…whatever it was, fighting and struggling. The air in there was as suffocating as it was, but now Tracker could hardly even breathe at all. He gasped and managed to punch his attacker in the face before throwing them off and sucking in a lungful of acidic air.

"Ow!" Fever cried somewhere to the left. "You jerk!"  
>Tracker was mildly surprised she was still alive.<p>

"You attacked me first!" Tracker accused, wanting to move away but afraid of falling of the ledge of the thing he was on.

"Yeah, but you left me here to die! You wanted me to be killed!"

"Well, it would have certainly solved several issues."

"Oh, shut up! Thanks to you, we're _both _dead now!"

Tracker scowled, looking up into the darkness. "There's always a way out. It's… feasible. It'll just take a little planning. We can just –"

"Oh, will you just _shut up_?" Fever shrieked, her voice echoing off the cavernous walls. Tracker winced at the sound. "I'm tired of hearing your voice! 'Do this, do that; I'm superior, you're the henchmen'! I'm sick of it! I'm done listening to you! All it's ever done has almost gotten us killed a million times – and this time for real!"

"But –"

"No buts!" She cut him off. Tracker could hear her stomping around, possibly throwing some fists at empty air in the hopes of socking him in the face. "Don't you get it? This is it! End of the line! We're through! And it's all thanks to you!"

Tracker went silent. For once, in all the time that they had known each other, Fever was right. There was no hope. They were as good as dead. It was only a matter of time before more food came down and took them with it, or some other bodily function occurs and they get killed in the process.

Tracker had spent most of his life defending himself against all those mediocre ways to die. Gunshot wound, iocane powder, allergies. Tracker had deliberately become immune to them (wore a bullet-proof vest at all times, no less). He thought he'd go out with a bang – killed via assassination attempt on the President of the United States, or going up in a fiery ball of destruction. Something that would make the news and look good on TV.

But never be swallowed by an overindulgent superhero.

Had Tracker known getting shrunk was a possibility, he would have found an immunity for that, too.

And now he was faced with death. There was no denying it. Eventually, the Grim Reaper would come and take him away. Kicking and screaming, perhaps, but away all the same.  
>Tracker was, in no uncertain terms, a goner.<p>

Fever was a goner too, but she wasn't taking it so well. She was screaming curses and kicking the walls, calling out a number of obscene things, mostly about Tracker and some sharp, pointy implements that he could shove in choice places.

Tracker had never faced death so calmly before. Most of the time, he simply refused it to happen and one way or another, he'd survive. Somehow, without any powers and no special senses, he knew it was over.

He had no idea why he felt so calm. Maybe he was both unhappy about his life ending so early, and so amused that it had to be karmic as well – try to kill a bunch of people, and you get eaten. There. He finally learned one of those Aesops they talked so much about in elementary school. You mess with a giant, you get a bunch of money. You try to get a bunch of money, you get eaten by a giant. Go figure.

Tracker enjoyed the calm. It wasn't the same as he felt before. It wasn't that focus he usually had, trying to concentrate on the situation and get to whatever goal he had in mind. It wasn't that determination to get the job done, or the feeling when he abruptly ended someone's life. This was different.

This was peace.

He liked the sensation, although he wished he didn't have to be on the (literal) brink of death to discover it. It was a shame, really. Tracker would enjoy feeling this peace more often, in the future.

Fever was panting, suddenly out of words to say, her breath filling the entire space with noise. She sniffled and she wiped at her face, trying to get rid of those stupid tears that came at the most awful moments. She was grateful that it was too dark for Tracker to see it. He'd just mock her show of weakness, vulnerability. How could she help if it if she didn't want to die! It just wasn't fair!

"How can you just be like that?" she yelled at him, although she was probably facing the wrong direction, so she just shouted at the ceiling and hoped Tracker couldn't tell. "How can you be so effin' _calm_ about this?"  
>There was a soft chuckle. "No regrets."<p>

Fever was dumbfounded for a moment. Then she threw her arms into the air. "No regrets? How can you have no regrets! Because I have a lot of them! Like not living till I'm old and ugly, for instance! And that money. _All that money!_"

There was a minute of silence. Then Tracker admitted, "Yes, I wished I got the money, too."

"But, for some reason, it's not that big of a deal, huh?"

"Well, I'd certainly prefer living if it means I don't get the money."

Fever was about to shout another insult, but found she had none. She sighed, sinking the floor in exhaustion. "You're right. Money's no good when you're dead."

The silence stretched. Fever cried a little more, although it was mostly about the money. She didn't have a lot of regrets in life, although that was mostly because she didn't have a lot planned for it. She had a pretty average life. Living in a small town where stealing stuff was easy, had a good connection with the mob. Life was easy then. She was strong and powerful enough to avoid death at every turn. Scared the Mafia into leaving her alone, once, and still giving her the 3 million they owed. That was definitely the highlight of her life.

A part of her wondered if she'd ever get married, or have children. Of course, now she'd never know, but Fever had always wondered what it would've been like to raise children. Her mother hadn't been the greatest, but Fever knew she would've done a much better job. It would've been nice to raise a baby, put finger paintings on the fridge, drive her kids to soccer camp in a SUV, and teaching them how to pick locks and pockets at the same time. Her kids would be good kids. Not criminals, but not goody-two-shoes, either. They'd be perfect.

"What would you have done with the money?" she finally asked, looking around in the dark expanse. The silence was bothering her again, and a part of her was wishing that she could've seen the ending to that soap opera. The cliffhanger was really bugging her now.

"Bought an island somewhere in the Caribbean." Tracker replied, calm as ever. "Surrounded by sun and beautiful women. Retirement."

Fever almost snorted. Men.

"You?" he asked.

Fever was surprised that he was curious. Or maybe that was Tracker being polite (which was weird). Or maybe facing death had turned him into a completely different person (which was weird, too). She had to think about it before she answered. "Well, I don't know. Maybe starting a new life. Witness protection program. Become a member of some organization. Just not be a mercenary anymore."

"Ah," Tracker said. He sounded reminiscent, almost sad, yet somehow approving. Fever liked the change, she decided. "That's a good choice."

"Does it bother you?" she asked him.

"Does what bother me?"

"Uh, hello? Dying?"

"Oh. Yeah."

Fever rolled her eyes, exhaling in exasperation. "Gee, can you elaborate, please?"

"I'm sorry, is something bothering you again?"

"I'm just saying. I mean, we're really gonna die. There's no leaving this. We're dead. Or going to be. And all you can say is 'yeah'?"

"Well…yes." Tracker didn't know why he couldn't tell Fever that he didn't feel fear. She'd think he'd lost his marbles. He still wanted her respect – just _someone's_ respect – before he was dead. It was all he wanted now that there was nothing left. But he had somehow accepted his death. He had left a prominent enough legacy behind him to leave behind a great myth of his life, especially to those of whom he worked for. A mercenary who could find anything and everything. It was a great legend.

"Oh," Fever muttered, unimpressed. "Whatever."

Fever was angry – she didn't want to die, but that had already been established. For some reason, she felt as though she was missing something. Something that she had wanted to do for a while, but had always forgotten. Now was the time to do it. If only she could remember…

It came to her in a moment. "Hey, Tracker?"

"Yeah?"

"Okay, so you know that aftershave you always use? I replaced it with cat pee. Just thought you should know before you died."

That peace that Tracker felt disappeared in a flash. "Why, you little b–"

He didn't get a chance to kill Fever before a loud rumble filled the cave and the floor vanished beneath them. In a splash, both were gone.

OoOoO

Spiderman burped, the action causing his throat to burn. He coughed, choked, then chugged down a glass of milk to ease his throat. That was a close one.

The show was almost over. The killer had been revealed (it was the janitor all along!), the assassin stopped, and the weather machine finally destroyed. All that was left now was for Janice to learn that David was cheating on her and that Claire had been behind everything and was working for the CIA all along. But there was only two minutes left…

Man, this stuff was intense.

Spiderman's stomach had been killing him for this past ten minutes. He had no idea what was wrong. Did he eat a sour banana? He had already checked to see if the milk was expired or not. Maybe the cereal had something funky going on, too. Or maybe he should just stop eating for a little bit. There were no more bananas left.

He had found the chip resting on the table, but threw it in the trash a second later. He had finally decided that he didn't care anymore. No one had come to attack him within the past twenty-four hours, so clearly it wasn't as important as he thought it was. The Ineffectual Four had been just a bunch of glorified robbers with superpowers. They had been after nothing. He had been fretting about it all something stupid. It probably went to a game console, for all he knew.

Spiderman was threw with it. And he was happy. The Green Goblin and Sinister Six were enough trouble. The Ineffectual Four were just a bunch of losers with a high profile (and then mysteriously disappeared). They had the brains to get out before they were caught by the Spiderman. They were probably the few who were smart enough to do that.

Spiderman's show returned. Jessica was admitting her love to Derek. Clarice had bodies buried beneath her cellar. That assassin was finally turned in and the weather machine burned. All in a day's work.

Spiderman didn't know why he felt so relieved when the show was over. It was as if the air had been tense until now, some sort of release that made him feel suddenly relaxed. That strange feeling of not being alone was gone now. Maybe it was the TV screwing with his mind.

The sun had set by now. He got up and threw the banana peels away. He had eaten all six of them. The cereal bowl went into the sink, and he washed away the extra flakes. Today had been a good day. He wondered if Aunt May had any pie left. Maybe he could snatch a piece before she got home…

Spiderman shut off the TV. It was Dateline news now, stupid, uninteresting stuff. He stretched his arms, relishing the pops and cracking his shoulder and spine. Man, what a relief. Who knew superhero life could leave you so uptight?

It was a little too late when he recognized the sound of a car pulling in and the sound of a door unlocking.

He gasped and scrambled for the stairs, tripping over the leg of the table and bruising his knee. "Oh, crap!"

Peter Parker had just barely made it into his room before Aunt May made it inside. That was close. He heard her footsteps in the kitchen as he rushed to change out of his suit. He could hear the sounds of paper bags being set on the table, the TV being turned on to the news. He wanted to tell Aunt May that he wasn't really hungry for supper, but he was hesitant to reveal that he had eaten all the bananas in one afternoon.

Well, he always had the excuse of going through a growth spurt. (Okay, his last one had been six months ago, but it wouldn't kill nature to give him a couple more inches, would it?)

Peter glanced at his backpack, realizing he hadn't done any of his homework – the show had kept his attention straight through the evening. Didn't he have a report due tomorrow?

Better get started on that. Aunt May wouldn't be pleased to know he wasn't putting as much interest into his work anymore. Then there'd be no more pie for dessert.

And Peter _loved_ pie.

Before Aunt May could open the door to his room, Peter kicked his suit underneath his bed with his spares, stuffed the web-shooters into his backpack, and nearly crashed into his chair, splaying out his research report across his desk, all messy. Although he had been up here for barely a couple minutes, the disarray would lead Aunt May to believe he had been here all afternoon, not patrolling the streets of New York, delivering due justice, stopping a bank robbery, and watching a soap opera.

She'd think Peter didn't have his priorities straight. Which was very much not true. That B- in English would only last for a couple days…

He was five minutes in when the door knob turned and Aunt May peeked in, "Peter, didn't you hear me come in? I called you three times…"

Peter _had_ heard her, but that was super Peter, who had cool powers. Nerdy Peter would have been too focused on his report to hear anything beyond the scratch of pencil on paper. He looked up, as though he were surprised she was even there. "Uh…oh! Sorry, Aunt May, I was just doing homework. H-how was your day?"

Aunt May's slightly worried expression broke into a smile, and she walked in to ruffle his hair. "Oh, you're so sweet, Peter! My day was fine, thank you. I hope you don't mind if we have a few guests here tonight."

"No, I don't mind," Peter returned her smile, although uneasiness crept at the back of his mind. It would just be his luck if the guests happened to be his worst enemy or something. Like Doctor Octopus or the Green Goblin or Flash Thompson…

Aunt May grinned. "Oh, good. We'll be having spaghetti tonight, so I hope you're hungry. The Watson's _love_ spaghetti."

She was half-way down the stairs before Peter could recognize the name. It had been tickling the back of his mind, like some sort of annoying fly buzzing around. But as soon as he recalled it, Peter jumped up and dashed to the door, yelling out, "Wait, do you mean that Miss Mary-Jane Wonderful-Personality Girl?"

Aunt May called back. "Yes, Peter! That's exactly who I mean! Her mother, too."

No. Please no. Oh, God. Was Aunt May serious? Mary-Jane Wonderful Personality was coming over. He shuddered. No, no, no.

Peter loved Aunt May very much. But her idea of a wonderful personality was probably still stuck back in the 1960's. Any girl like that was….well, Peter didn't know what that was, but the very idea made him shudder.

He ducked back into his room. Was this karma acting on him, punishing Peter for not getting his homework done sooner?

Peter felt his stomach twist in unease, although meeting girls usually didn't make him feel this way (mostly involved sweating and stuttering nervously, not feeling like he ate a bad food). Maybe those bananas hadn't been as fresh as he thought. What if he, like, got one of those airborne bacteria that gave you the flu in just a couple hours.

Peter really hoped that would happen. Maybe if he got sick enough, Aunt May would cancel the dinner and not have to see her. Boy, would that be a relief.

But this wasn't science fiction and Peter had faked being sick so many times before that it would be impossible to fool Aunt May now. He sighed as he sat back on his chair, looking at his homework as if it could give him an answer to this dilemma.

His Civil War notes, however, did not reveal any deep dark secret. He almost wished for the Ineffectual Four again – as stupid as they were, they would make a great distraction. Maybe they could cause, like, some sort of terrible disaster that he had to stop…

The only problem was that the Ineffectual Four were gone. They'd have better luck getting into jail than causing a massive destruction.

Peter shrugged his shoulders to himself. Well, there was no way out of this one. It seemed as though he had to face this challenge head on, by himself.

Outside, a car pulled into the parking lot. Peter looked out, a little confused when a pretty girl with red hair got out of the car, alongside an older woman. What were they doing here? These people couldn't possibly be the Watsons. For one thing, that girl was way too hot –

The girl looked up, as if sensing Peter's gaze, then smiled and waved at him. Peter fell out of his chair, smacking his head against his desk. Dizzy and now sporting a new bruise, Peter wasn't sure if the faint giggling he heard was real or just a part of his imagination.

Rubbing his sore head, Peter got up and peeked out the window again. Aunt May was just letting the Watsons in, and he got another look at the girl before she entered below. He ducked back down before she could look up again.

Back against the wall, he looked up at the ceiling and almost smiled. Maybe tonight wouldn't be so bad after all.


	8. Chapter 8

**I think I might add an epilogue for this, for the next morning when Pete wakes up. Let me know, if this isn't a satisfying enough ending!**

**Read and Review!**

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><p>Chapter Eight<p>

**Peter's Living Room**

**6:15 PM**

Peter was having a silent freak out while his aunt and their guests conversed below him. He quickly brushed his hair, put on his shoes, and a pair of pants, too. Should he change his shirt? He should change his shirt, shouldn't he? This one had stains on it – yeah, he should change it.

In the back of his mind he could hear the invisible clock ticking down, the length of Aunt May's patience slowly dwindling. He usually never put so much care into his appearance, but Peter figured a pretty girl was as good a reason as any. Besides, Aunt May would rip him apart for not looking presentable in front of such lovely guests.

As he got ready, Peter wondered what Mary-Jane "Wonderful Personality" Watson was like. Did she like to read? What was her favorite kind of music? Hopefully it wasn't opera or anything stupid like that. Oh, crap, what if she was like Sally Admiral? He couldn't stand girls with high-pitched voices that complained about everything. Oh, God, if anything, please don't let her be like that!  
>Peter hoped she was cool. What defined as 'cool,' however, he wasn't entirely sure.<p>

His internal clock was ticking uncomfortably close to end time. Peter rushed out the door, slamming with perhaps more force than necessary. Whoa, he really needed to watch it with his spidey strength. What would Aunt May think when he came down the stairs with a chunk of door handle in his hand?

Aunt May, Mrs. Watson and her daughter, Mary-Jane were all sitting in the living room, chatting it up. Or rather, just Aunt Mau and Mrs. Watson. Mary-Jane wasn't participating, looking bored. Butterflies fluttered around in Peter's stomach when she looked up as he entered and smiled when he joined them. Man, that was a nice smile.

Aunt May also turned his way when he came in. She introduced Peter to her friends. She urged Peter to say hi, but for about five seconds he completely forgot his name. He was too busy looking at Mary-Jane and grinning like a goof. Then he came to his senses, but almost said 'Spiderman' instead of 'Pete.' Thankfully, he caught himself just in time, stumbled around his sentences, then jerked an awkward but enthusiastic hand at Mary-Jane. She was still smiling and introduced herself with just as much enthusiasm.

Holy crap, this girl was amazing.

Whoa, slow down, hotrod. Peter had to shake his head to clear it, reminding himself that he still didn't know a thing about her. She could still be a Sally Admiral clone. He better play it safe before he thought about trying anything stupid, like falling head over heels for her.

He sat down on the couch, not necessarily beside Mary-Jane, but close enough that they could hold a totally civilized conversation. Peter couldn't help but stare at her eyes, green, that contrasted wonderfully to her red hair. She couldn't have been much older than him. Why didn't he ever notice her before at Midtown?

Mary-Jane seemed more interested in talking to him than the other two ladies, which was just fine by Peter. He discovered that she was even cooler than he had initially thought – her laid-back attitude, the way nothing seemed to phase her. She didn't take holidays seriously. She despised ideas that the media tried to impose on her. She was a huge drama buff. Shakespeare was her hero.

She also seemed pleased that Peter was not a sport junkie, someone who followed the crowd. He didn't know any of this, but he was happy that she noticed. Peter had no idea he was hungry again until the timer ringed and Aunt May welcomed them all to the dinner table.

The four of them sat at the table, chatting animatedly. Peter had never been one for public occasions, but this was the first time he felt truly happy and comfortable talking with total strangers about himself. They seemed interested, saw him as Peter Parker, normal guy. Not Petey, the science nerd with no social life or Spiderman, the coolest superhero ever. Was this what it was like to have a normal teenage life?

The whole while they were eating spaghetti and tried to chew with his mouth closed, Peter felt strangely sick. Maybe he ate one too many bananas, or the milk and noodles weren't getting along so well. He probably shouldn't have stuffed himself with so much healthy goodness, but the way his metabolism burned calories, he needed as much food as he could stuff into his face.

He didn't let that bother him, though, because he didn't want to look like a weirdo in front of Mary-Jane, who still thought there was nothing wrong with him. Peter always wanted a girlfriend who appreciated him and didn't think that liking molecular physics was nerdy.

_Whoa, slow down, tiger. Sure, she likes you, but would she date you? If you were Spiderman, it'd be a done deal, but you're boring, puny Peter Parker. No girl is going to throw herself at you when there are higher-caliber guys out there. Besides, Mary-Jane said she liked it when guys just acted like themselves and didn't show off or put on the 'moves.' If you tried anything like that, you might as well say goodbye to that invitation to see one of her rehearsals and any chance of ever having a social life._

Peter took a deep breath, which was kind of bad idea when your mouth is full of meatball. He nearly choked, but when everyone else looked upon him in concern, he just coughed and grinned, calling it good. Okay, just because you can't show off doesn't mean looking like a total doofus is the better idea, either.

Man, what was wrong with him? It was as if something in his stomach didn't want him to have a good night with some perfectly nice people.

After dinner was over, Aunt May and Mrs. Watson adjourned to the living room where they sipped coffee and ate biscuits. Mary-Jane waited for her mother outside on the porch, watching as the sun set and the moon rise. She didn't seem to mind when Peter joined her (no way in hell was he going to talk to Mrs. Watson about the finer points knitting scarves or doilies or whatever with Aunt May). He looked up and was pleased to see that even a few stars had popped out, glittering like little fireflies stuck in the stratosphere.

It was mostly silent between them. Peter felt awkward. The only girl he really hung around was Gwen, and she wasn't exactly the kind of girl he'd practice flirting with. He shifted nervously, trying to think of what to say. It felt as though they talked about everything during supper, and now they had drained that barrel dry. What could he say now? It was easy to talk about yourself or someone else, but what do you do when you've already done that? Talk about the weather? The economy? Recent murders?

"So." He finally said, then wanted to kick himself when he realized that _that_ was all he could come up with. _Come on, man, you're more creative than that!_

Apparently, he wasn't, but Mary-Jane replied with an equally blasé, "So."

"Nice weather out." Peter managed to squeak, then coughed and said in a much manlier tone. "Could be worse."  
>"It could be."<p>

Oh, man, this was going downhill fast. What was he going to say next? He didn't want the night to end on a dull note. What if that was all she remembered, or cared about? Peter didn't want Mary-Jane to think he was as dumb as a bucket of rocks, or that the dinner was all just a show to look good in front of the grown-ups.

Blurting it a little louder than he meant to, Peter said, "What if I told you I was a superhero?"

No. Not even Peter could comprehend just how stupid he was.

Mary-Jane turned to him, a funny look on her face. A smile broke out on her lips, her eyebrows quirking. Laughing a little, she said, "Well, uh, I would probably say you're trying to be funny. Or playing a really bad prank."

Peter flushed, but he was glad to get the conversation going again. "Uh, yeah. What if I told you that I – uh – saved the world a couple times? As a superhero?"

Mary-Jane paused to think, pursing her lips. Peter kind of had a hard time not staring at her. Man, this girl was amazing. "Well, I'd say that's pretty brave of you. I mean, if you're not doing it for the money, because that's completely different. I don't usually talk to sell-out superheroes."

"What kind of superheroes _do_ you talk to, then?"

"Well, I'm not going to brag or anything," Mary-Jane sat back, leaning on her arms. She rolled her eyes, smirking at him. "But I do know this one guy – he's nice enough, but I'm getting the feeling he's got more behind that mask of his. Smart, a little mysterious, just the right amount of charm. I kind of like him. He might turn out okay, if he keeps things up the way he's doing them."

Peter literally couldn't believe what he was hearing. There were _more _superheroes out there? He thought he was the only one! "Oh. So, uh, do you guys go out on dates or something?"

Mary-Jane shrugged. "Not necessarily. I kind of just met him, not too long ago. I'm kinda hoping he'll show up at my rehearsal."

Peter stared at her. _Oh! _She was _flirting_ with him!

Well, d'oh.

Clueless Spiderman to the rescue!

Peter nodded, playing it cool. Man, this conversation was making total sense now that he understood the context. Man, he was thick! "From what I've heard, I think this guy is pretty reliable, most of the time. Well, when he's not busy saving the world."

"You think so?" Mary-Jane tilted her head, eyeing him quizzically. "Can I hold him to that?"

"Uh…" Well, Pete wasn't so sure. A lot could happen between now and the rehearsal. Who knows? "Well, I'd recommend giving him a little leeway. He's kind of new to this whole idea of being _on time_. For – uh – dates."

"Ah!" Mary-Jane nodded. "I see. I guess being a superhero is not all it's cracked up to be."

"Yep. All the danger and none of the perks." Peter leaned on his knees, watching as several cars rumbled by. He knew Mary-Jane didn't believe him, that she just thought the whole superhero thing was a joke, and she was just playing along, but for some reason he wanted to tell her everything. Well, okay, not _everything,_ but boy, for some reason Peter felt like he could tell this girl anything and she'd be totally cool about it.

Unfortunately, he couldn't take that chance.

"Really?" Mary-Jane said, looking at him with raised eyebrows. "It doesn't seem so bad from the outside. He gets the press, the news, all those loyal fans. What's not to love?"

"I don't know. I guess all those supervillains kind of dull the shine a little bit. But what do I know?"

Mary-Jane chuckled. "You're pretty funny, Peter Parker, I'll give you that."

"Well, I'm a pretty funny guy."

Mary-Jane snorted. Just then, the screen door opened and Mrs. Watson stepped out, still looking inside as she said, "Thank you so much for dinner, May. I had a lovely time. I hope we can do this again!"

Aunt May appeared in the doorway, returning the smile. She clutched at her sweater, bringing it closer as a cold wind blew through the door. Peter hadn't even noticed it was cold, yet when he glanced at Mary-Jane, he noticed that she had been wearing a coat and scarf the entire time, and her ears were bright red. He was just in a t-shirt and jeans. Was it really _that_ cold?

Perhaps life as a superhero made him all the tougher. Well, _that _was a perk.

"Oh, thank you! I'd love that!" Aunt May replied, passing Ms. Watson her coat and flicking on the porch light. Peter didn't even notice it was dark or that the sun was already gone. Mary-Jane was just that interesting.

"Come on, Mary-Jane!" Ms. Watson called, clopping down the steps and heading towards her car. "You're going to catch a cold out here!"

Well, Peter was feeling just fine.

The headlights blinked and the engine revved. Mary-Jane sighed, smiling. She got up and followed her mother to the car, as serene as could be. Before she opened the door, she turned to Peter and called, "Hey, Pete! What's this superhero's name?"

Peter grinned. "Spiderman."

Mary-Jane threw him a funny look, as if she couldn't decide whether to laugh or snort. But she just smiled and ducked into the car. She waved as they pulled out of the driveway and headed down the road. The car disappeared around the corner and the street turned dark and quiet.

Peter got up, feeling all warm and fuzzy inside, which almost quelled that sick feeling in his stomach. He turned to Aunt May, who was studying him in a manner that most people do when faced with a rather interesting puzzle. "What?"

"What's this superhero business she was talking about?"

Peter just shrugged, grinning. "Oh, nothing."

OoOoO

Tracker gasped for breath, but the air stunk of tomatoes and acid. Where the hell was he? How was he not dead? As soon as he started falling through thin air, Tracker had known that this was the end, that this was all over with, and his legacy would end in the toilet bowl of some teenager's house.

But he knew what this was about. A few years back he had made a couple bad deals and got into trouble with people – one of whom may or may have superpowers that revolved around prophecies and altering fate and might have had a thing for revenge– that scared the bejesus out of him. Now he understood that this was punishment. He would not have a swift, painless death as he would have wanted. He would not die in a flash. He would die slowly, deliberately, as his body slowly burned up in stomach acid.

Speaking of which, why was he not screaming in agony? Tracker looked around, surprised to find that he was lying on a floating piece of disintegrated banana. Somehow it had not burned up quite yet, although why he had no idea. Maybe it had something to do with potassium. That stuff always messed him up.

He could neither see nor hear Fever, then cursed under his breath. She got lucky, getting a quick death. Didn't even get a chance to complain before the reaper took her. The only thing Tracker could be thankful for was that at least he wouldn't get his ears chewed off by her constant screaming and complaining.

The cavernous stomach rumbled and roiled around him. Tracker knew that just because he was alive now, he had no chance of surviving the course through the intestines. He was as good as dead. He took one look at the bubbling acid around him and thought, hell, he might as well jump in and get it over with. No sense in trying to be dignified when there was no one else alive to witness it. Besides, he wanted that prophetic bastard in Tokyo to suck it –Tracker was dying on his own terms.

Before Tracker took the big dip, he hoped that he have that annoying Spiderman indigestion, because this job was way more trouble than it was worth.


	9. EPILOGUE

**Added some more narration, elaborated the night. Hope this is better!**

**Thanks for reading the whole story, I'm glad this is one of the few I've actually finished! *fireworks***

**Read and Review!**

**EPILOGUE**

**7:15 AM**

**Peter's Bedroom**

He had waited until Aunt May was soundly asleep before jumping out his bedroom window, pulling on his mask before he swung through the air.

Peter was glad that the night was mostly uneventful with a surprisingly lack of super villains, because the entire time his stomach was acting up on him. He didn't think it was too big of a deal at first. The first burglar he took out was easy enough – just slamming both feet into the chest covered by a thin hoodie and sending the crook into a trashcan. Easy as pie.

But the next crime scene wasn't as…clean.

Spider-Man had seen the three criminals sprinting down an alley while a car alarm blared behind them. He dropped down, catching them in a dead end. The crooks turned and panicked, but they weren't very intimidating when their backs were against the wall. While the other two had fallen to their knees in surrender, the third charged at Spider-Man, as if the idiot thought that a superhero would be afraid of a guy in a black sweater and high tops. Really, a true gangster.

"You know, maybe you should just surrender," Spider-Man suggested, before the crook could make another poor life decision. "Just save yourself the trouble of getting the snot beat out of you. Common criminal courtesy."

The guy didn't listen, already half-way to him. Spider-Man caught the thief's fist with one hand and flipped the guy over his back. The thief smacked the ground with a satisfying thud. Spider-Man bent down to tie up the guy's wrists, but then his Spider Sense went off.

Spider-Man meant to turn around to fight off the incoming thug taking advantage of the hero's distraction, but right then a cramp decided that this would be the best time to pop up and try to get Spider-Man killed.

Pain shot through his abdomen. _Oh, this isn't good_, he thought. Spider-Man almost keeled over, then really did when he got a face full of knee to the jaw. He hit the ground. A foot planted itself on his shoulder. Spider-Man tried to shake it off, but the pain increased and he groaned, accidentally kicking the fallen guy in the face. The guy was promptly knocked out.

The feeling of a man's face connecting with his foot was pretty satisfying. The pain temporarily subsided and Spider-Man dodged a foot that was getting ready to make contact with his ribcage. He jumped back up, snapping a foot around the jaw of the thug standing over him and knocking the man to the ground. He groaned but didn't try to get back up.

Two down, one to go.

At first, when Spider-Man didn't immediately spot the last guy, he thought the thief might have ran away. But then he spotted the man trying to squeeze his fat butt through an open window. So Spider-Man decided to help him out and slingshot a trashcan lid in the fat thief's direction.

The rim of the lid smacked the man's rear. There was a yelp from the other side and the man fell through, probably landing on his face. But the man got back up just as quickly and dove deeper into the building.

As Spider-Man crawled through the open window (it wasn't nearly as small as the fat man made it to be), looking around for the escapee thief. They were in some sort of warehouse, filled with decrepit shelving and dusty lamps that probably hadn't been turned on in fifty years. It was dark, but it didn't take Spider-Man very long to find the criminal.

He was making all sorts of noises, banging into stuff and knocking over shelves in his attempt to run away. It was almost too easy for Spider-Man to have taken him down. Perhaps that's why he should have been more careful.

Spider-Man managed to creep up behind the guy, trying hard not to snicker when he got a good jump out of the criminal. "I thought the idea behind being a criminal was that you got away with illegal acts. You're not doing a very good job. Have you considered another profession? Window cleaning, perhaps? Or maybe a mailman. I heard they take postage pretty seriously nowadays."

"ARGH!" the guy almost jumped out of his extra large work boots. He whipped around and swung a tire iron around like a little schoolgirl who had an icky bug on her hand. "Get away from me, freak!"

"Oh, now that's not a very nice thing to say to a guy in a red and blue suit." Spider-Man had tossed him against the wall. "I mean, you don't know what I'm capable of, what kind of creepy powers I've got up my sleeve, how much of a jerk I can be to crooks like you. You're poking a sleeping dragon, bud. Not a good move. I bet you were the stupid one in your little posse of criminals, am I right?"

The man tried to get up and hit back, but without a tire iron he wasn't much a threat. Just a fat guy in a black mask. Spider-Man knocked his hand out of the way and planted a foot on his chest, propelling the man backwards. His back broke a rusty old pipe. That was perhaps the first thing Spider-Man should have thought of before doing that.

Hot steam blasted into Spider-Man's face, throwing him back. There was a resounding _thwack!_ when the thug picked up a barrel and threw it at the hero, catching Spider-Man right across the chest.

A shelf full of cardboard boxes broke Spider-Man's fall. Several pointy corners bounced off his head, but Spider-Man quickly threw them off, boxes flying everywhere. For some reason, this crook was putting up a good fight. It was like Lady Fate was trying to screw around with Spider-Man. He never had to work this hard to take down petty criminals.

He groaned, massaging a new bruise on his forehead. "Ow. I mean – I meant to do that. Just giving you a sporting chance. Because you're kind of pathetic and all. Even for a lowlife felon who's going nowhere but the pound."

Fat Guy wasn't really appreciative of Spider-Man's mouth, which was a shame, really. "Well, you don't know what I'm capable of, either! The Big Man picked me himself!"

"The Big Man's losing his touch, then," the hero retorted, dodging another barrel and _thwipping_ a rope of web at Fat Guy, getting him right across the face. The man cried out, scratching at the quickly drying substance, trying in vain to pull it off. "Sure, he's big and scary and gives me the heebie-jeebies, but that doesn't mean he doesn't make mistakes. Like you, for instance."

"MMRRRPPHHHGG!" the thug said.

"I'm glad you agree." Spider-Man grinned and knocked the guy out with a good, solid punch.

Spider-Man exited the warehouse. He left the three bandits hanging upside down a lamppost for the police to find, before swinging off back home to get some shut eye.

Slipping back in through the window, Spider-Man quickly shucked off his suit and got into some pajamas. He was careful to remain quiet, lest he woke up Aunt May and then have to explain why his window was open and a Spidey suit on his floor.

The cramps in his stomach had returned, but Peter was too exhausted for it to keep him up for long. He experienced bad dreams, of going to school is his Spider-Man suit, then in only his underwear, then going to school in his Spider-Man suit _and_ his underwear.

Peter did not sleep well that night.

It could have been he ate something funny (curse those bananas!), or the fact he was still giddy from meeting Mary-Jane for the first time ever and totally not screwing up. It might have also been because he had to keep getting up to go to the bathroom every half-hour, suffering from some major indigestion, so that could be it, too.

Least to say, he wasn't a happy camper that morning, still groggy and aching from the night before. There was this weird crick in his neck that wouldn't go away. Maybe he pulled a muscle while sneaking out on one last patrol after supper…

His day lightened up, however, when he discovered a note in his jacket the next morning. It had fallen out when he put it on – it was folded neatly in half, the handwriting performed in impeccable cursive. He had never seen it before, but Peter knew exactly who it was from.

Obviously, Mary Jane's signature at the bottom kind of gave it away immediately.

Peter sported some new bruises from the earlier night. It was a pretty normal patrol, or as normal as patrols are for a web-slinging, wall-crawling superhero in a bright red and blue suit. Perhaps the only thing that really bothered him was the new stain he found on his suit – its source was inexplicable, because he never remembered receiving a blow on the back of his legs, otherwise his hamstrings probably wouldn't want to move that next morning. He just sighed and decided that he'll just put it in the wash and hope for the best. Repairing suits were a pain and he didn't have enough money to buy more fabric.

He had to go to the bathroom one more time before he left for school that day. He suddenly felt great afterwards, and concluded that whatever the hell had been trying to kill him last night was probably taking first-class down the U-Bend Express, brought to you by the Porcelain God Incorporated™.

Peter walked to school, after once again missing the bus, deciding to check out Midtown's theater club after school – Mary-Jane had mentioned it in their conversation the other night. Although she didn't go to Midtown, her other school didn't offer any theater arts extracurriculars, and Midtown was the only one that accepted students from other schools to participate in their events or whatever. All it meant to Peter was that he could see her again, and that his social life didn't suck as much as he thought it did.

OoOoO

Meanwhile, unknown to Peter, the remains of the supervillains formerly known as Fever and Tracker (now known as Charred Remains of Skeleton Number One and Charred Remains of Skeleton Number 2), had won the lottery and got a free first-class ticket down the U-Bend Express. The trip was turbulent and not at all pleasant, and the destination was finally reached that morning.

One would think that the fates of these heinous criminals had all ended that night, but one would be sadly mistaken. One, out of the four, had survived his rather wild (if short) adventure.

His name would be Gravity.

True to his name, Gravity hit the sidewalk with enough force to send nearby ants flying. But while Gravity was a more than a little top-heavy and weighed as much as a baby elephant, his ability to multiply had more uses than just taking up all the space in an elevator. Each copy was lighter and a little less sturdy than the single, original one. Spreading the weight amongst the five of him, Gravity managed to save himself, although 1/5 of him got squashed by passerby. He had been knocked out upon impact, but when he woke up, Gravity was surprised to find out he was still alive and suddenly 300 pounds lighter.

Oh, and inconsequential fact that he was normal size again. The effects of the shrink ray had worn away over night. Gravity was all back to normal.

He didn't really know what to do – Tracker and the others were gone. He didn't feel comfortable walking the streets on his own. Gravity had literally no idea what to think when a boy ran right into him, perhaps heading towards school, considering the hour of the day.

The boy gasped and jumped back, raising his fists and turning very much hostile. Gravity really had no idea why the boy was acting like that – he had never seen the kid before. He also had no idea why the boy looked like he was about to fight, since he was as skinny as a rail with a messy mop of brown hair. He had a better chance of taking on a rhino.

Of course, Gravity had no warning when the boy took him out with a series of punches and kicks, jumping around faster than he could turn, and next thing he knew he was hanging upside down from a lamppost – wrapped up in steel-strong webbing.

The boy was gone as soon as he came, but Gravity heard a familiar voice saying, "Geez, you guys always pop up in the weirdest places! I just can't catch a break!"


End file.
